


The Master Race Gets a Hand(y)

by JerseyGirl324



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Clone Sex, Dubious Consent, Episode: s04e12 The Stolen Earth, Episode: s04e17-e18 The End of Time, Episode: s04e18 The End of Time (2), Gangbang, Gratuitous Smut, Humiliation, M/M, Masturbation, Metacrisis, Multi, Orgy, Post Episode: s04e12 The Stolen Earth, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 02:49:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1167750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JerseyGirl324/pseuds/JerseyGirl324
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/790049">The Master Race</a>. Handy (a.k.a. Ten II a.k.a. Metacrisis Tenth Doctor) is snatched from his parallel universe for some gratuitous sex and emotional torment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Master Race Gets a Hand(y)

**Author's Note:**

> Illustrated and inspired by [awabubbles](http://awabubbles.tumblr.com/)

 

It’s been three days since the human race ceased to exist. Three long days since the Master had allowed his clones to violate the Doctor in the most unspeakable way imaginable. The Master had taken his own pleasure, of course, slipping into the bruised body left behind by his eager duplicates. When it was all over, he had soothed and cleaned his weary victim, wiping him down with a warm cloth to remove the dried blood and sticky excretions.

Since then, the Doctor has been confined to the large suite of rooms that once belonged to Naismith’s daughter. He is kept well, with a luxurious four-poster bed, bright picture windows, and opulent en suite facilities. The Master has even supplied books from the estate’s library to help pass the time; but there can be no doubt in anyone’s mind that the Doctor is a prisoner. The Master’s guards maintain a constant watch just beyond the imposing oak doors, effectively blocking all means of escape.

The duplicates are sometimes charged with bringing the Doctor’s meals, but they are no longer permitted to touch him. He is grateful for the small mercy. On most occasions, however, the Master himself comes in to dine, scoffing down food before using the Doctor to satisfy his more carnal appetites. For a man in a dying body, he still has the stamina to make frequent sport of his ravished captive. The Doctor no longer resists; he is exhausted, and sustains himself only by savouring the small pleasures hidden within the Master’s otherwise cruel routine.

On this particular afternoon, the kept Time Lord is reading Agatha Christie in the large bed, propped up against a stack of pillows and spent from the Master’s breakfast visit. He is therefore surprised to hear the sound of a heavy brass key turning in the lock, and looks up from the novel just in time to see his captor enter the room with a mischievous grin on his face.

“I’ve got a surprise for you, Doctor,” the Master announces, stepping aside to allow an armed formation of clones to parade into the suite. They are dressed in full military regalia and appear to be escorting someone important. The Doctor’s mouth goes dry and his hearts sink as he catches a glimpse of their prisoner: a slender man in a blue suit stands in the middle of the group, looking both stunned and indignant at the treatment he is receiving.

“How did you find out about him?” the Doctor whispers hoarsely, his face turning ashen from shock.

“Your mental barriers are weak,” the Master replies matter-of-factly. “It was easy for me to slip in and access your thoughts once you had fallen asleep.”

“You violated my mind?” The Doctor’s soft voice is tinged with hurt at the betrayal. “Haven’t you taken enough from me already?”

“You’re mine now, Doctor,” the Master declares pointedly. “And so is your other self.”

“But how did you get into a parallel universe?” the Doctor persists, unable to contain his total disbelief. As painful realization dawns, his thoughts quickly turn to someone else, and he sits bolt upright in the massive bed. “What have you done with Rose?”

“The walls between dimensions are still porous,” the Master explains, casually taking a seat beside his fellow Time Lord. “And that fool Naismith had no idea what kind of technology he possessed. I recently came across a broken dimension jumper—and I repaired it.”

“You idiot!” the man in the blue suit suddenly interjects from within his tight circle of guards. “You risked tearing a gap in the fabric of reality!”

“This _Handy_  is a feisty one!” the Master exclaims, leaping off the bed with childish glee. “I should have made him myself when I had that extraneous biological matter of yours, Doctor.”

The man in question straightens up to his full height and glares at the maniacal Time Lord with self-righteous anger, the Doctor looking on in mortified defeat. The Master responds to his new captive with a wicked sneer, parting the ring of duplicates to better assess the results of the first human/Time Lord Metacrisis. In a show of dominance, he takes hold of Handy’s chin and appraises the specimen’s features: the part-human has the Doctor’s expressive brown eyes, spiky tousled hair, and parted red lips that practically beg to be used. Oh, he is going to have so much _fun_ with this one!

“Take me back to Rose,” the infuriated man demands.

“Why are you both so obsessed with that silly Earth girl?” the Master spits in disgust, releasing his grip and glancing back towards the bed.

“Let him go,” the Doctor pleads, swiftly cutting in before his own duplicate can muster a retort. “Send him back where he belongs.”

“I suppose I _could_ do that,” the Master muses theatrically, “but the alternatives are just so much better!”

With a wink, he motions to someone in the far corner of the room. That’s when the Doctor notices the clone in the pink dress, who has been silently watching from outside his immediate line of sight. With a knowing smirk, the Master’s duplicate advances into the circle, wrapping a possessive arm around Handy’s small waist and pulling him close. The man in blue flinches slightly at the touch, but refuses to grant his tormentors the satisfaction of watching him squirm.

The Master himself returns to the bed, pushing the speechless Doctor back onto the coverlet and brusquely stripping off his trousers and pants. He then maneuvers his partner onto one side and settles close behind him in a spooning position. The Doctor groans as the Master roughly shoves three fingers into his slick body, encountering little resistance from the well-trained muscles. Pink Dress forcibly escorts a recalcitrant Handy to the mattress and assumes an identical position next to their counterparts. Having accomplished its mission, the armed escort files out of the suite, leaving the two couples alone in the massive chamber. The Doctor is utterly humiliated; he closes his eyes just in time to hear the familiar sound of a zipper being lowered, and braces himself for what he knows will follow. He soon feels the tip of a cock pressing insistently against his ass, and whimpers softly as the Master impales him with a single thrust.

Aroused by the proceedings, Pink Dress disrobes his own lesser version of the Doctor and hikes up his skirt with impatient enthusiasm. He is already hard and aching from the sight before him; unable to hold off any longer, he unfastens the straps of his garter belt and quickly frees his burgeoning erection from black lace knickers. But relief won’t be as easy for him as it was for the Master. Knowing Handy’s ass is unaccustomed to being used, the duplicate wisely decides to take it slow, retrieving a bottle of lube from the bedside table and coating two fingers with the viscous liquid. Caught off guard, the Doctor’s copy instinctively tries to pull away, but Pink Dress keeps him in place by wrapping an arm and leg tightly around his lean frame.

“ _Ssshhhh_ …just relax and it won’t hurt so badly.”

Handy tenses but says nothing as the fingers work their way into the cleft of his arse, finding the taut orifice below and massaging it with deceptive tenderness. Mere inches away, the Doctor’s eyes remain tightly shut as the Master fucks him slow and deep. The two Time Lords hold one another in thrall in ways that Handy’s human emotions can’t begin to process; their mutual obsession spans more lifetimes than he will ever know. He shares many things with the Doctor, but the mortified being lying directly in front of him is still very much alien. The Master meets Handy’s gaze with a depraved smirk just as Pink Dress unexpectedly slips two fingers into his virgin body, eliciting a sharp gasp of pain and surprise.

“It’s okay,” the Master’s duplicate soothes, moving the digits in a scissoring motion as Handy bucks and squirms against him. “I promise the pain will go away if you just relax yourself for me.”

Tears of shame trickle down Handy’s face as Pink Dress opens him up with clinical precision; the indignity of the treatment is almost too much for the part-human to bear. He has the Doctor’s conflicted memories of the Master, of course, but this is something he never could have envisioned or desired for himself. Right now, he wants nothing more than to resume his budding life with Rose. His train of thought is harshly interrupted, however, as the fingers are abruptly withdrawn, replaced by the rounded head of a fully erect cock. He lets out a strangled sob, nerve endings alight with sheer agony as he is stretched and filled for the first time. Pink Dress gradually slides in to the hilt, then stills to allow his inexperienced partner time to adjust to the full length and girth of his shaft.

“You’re so _tight_ ,” the duplicate croons lustily, velvet heat enveloping him like a glove. “Even tighter than the Doctor! Now be a good boy and loosen up those muscles for me.”

Handy finally acknowledges that he is trapped, and decides to follow Pink Dress’s instructions in an effort to mitigate the excruciating pain. He takes a few steadying breaths, allowing his muscles to acclimate themselves to the massive cock. Pink Dress then begins to move within him, intuitively adjusting the speed and depth of penetration as his partner’s discomfort slowly recedes. He then angles his hips so that the tip of his cock grazes Handy’s prostate over and over, and it isn’t long before the Doctor’s other self experiences the first tumultuous stirrings of pleasure. The strategy is a useful one that Pink Dress has acquired directly from his original template. Handy’s body is now reacting in ways he never could have anticipated, and he flushes with embarrassment as his own cock twitches and begins to stiffen. The Master chuckles at the spectacle, fingers digging into the Doctor’s hips with bruising force as he continues to assail the beleaguered Time Lord.

“Remember when _you_ were so young and eager?” he whispers in the Doctor’s ear, pushing deep into him with a centuries-old familiarity. Long ago, he mastered the intimate boundaries between what the Doctor likes and what he can take; he now uses that knowledge to coerce his unwitting partner to hardness. He’s also been keeping a watchful eye on Handy. The alluring hybrid is uncharted territory that he will conquer and exploit in his own due time.

“He’s beautiful, Doctor,” the Master purrs silkily. “Just like you are when I fuck you.”

The Doctor refuses to open his eyes, having separated mind from body in an effort to shield his fragile psyche from the unnatural horror of the situation. He and the Master _were_ young once; there was a time, back home on Gallifrey, when they would have done anything for each other. They eagerly shared their bodies and souls, each taking the time to understand the other’s needs and desires. There had been mutual affirmation and constant patience. How could they have ended up like this? Overcome with grief, the Doctor simply can’t bring himself to gaze upon this bastardized parody of their complicated and ever-changing relationship. It’s all become too much for him to bear.

Nearby, Pink Dress is murmuring something to Handy. The Doctor doesn’t hear what is said, and is aghast to feel tentative fingers suddenly close around the base of his cock, giving it a few slow, experimental strokes. And then, without warning, his duplicate’s lips are on his own. He struggles to catch his breath, choking back sobs as a probing tongue finds its way into his gasping mouth. Being kissed by a newer version of himself is a violation that runs even deeper than the many torments the Master and his clones have wrought. It is a horrific aberration that rivals everything the Doctor has seen and experienced over the preceding days.

“Handy seems to have acquired the libido of a human male,” Pink Dress remarks, both he and the Master laughing in amusement as the intriguing scene unfolds before them.

A flush of scarlet creeps across the Doctor’s cheeks as Handy continues to stroke him. The duplicate rolls his thumb gently over the tip of his counterpart’s cock, dipping into the slit and swirling drops of pre-come across the sensitive head. The Doctor moans around the tongue that fills his mouth, bombarded on all sides by an awful cacophony of sensation. Spurred on by arousal, Pink Dress thrusts chaotically into Handy in the frantic pursuit of his own climax. The Doctor is also tellingly close, glistening beads sliding down the length of his shaft, defying his absolute shame and degradation.

“What would your beloved Rose think if she saw the two of you now?” the Master sneers. “Would she like it? Or would she be disgusted by how much you _need_ me?”

“Just stop,” the Doctor implores mournfully. “Please no more of this…”

Undeterred, the Master only quickens his pace, intent on bringing the Doctor over the edge. And Handy is certainly helping out, working the reluctant Time Lord in a way that only a flawed version of himself could. Sure enough, the Doctor spills into his copy’s palm with a muted cry, and the Master instantly follows suit, flooding his insides with a powerful surge of release. As his cock spasms inside the Doctor’s contracting arsehole, he notices that Handy’s neglected erection is in dire need of attention. He catches the gaze of his duplicate, and nods pointedly towards the problem.

“I guess you’ll have to finish yourself off,” Pink Dress leers softly to his partner. “Since your other self doesn’t seem inclined to return the favour.”

Desperate to relieve the painful swelling in his cock and balls, Handy finally takes himself in hand, stroking up and down the length of his shaft as Pink Dress pumps into him with increasingly erratic thrusts. His fingers are slick with the Doctor’s come, but he’s too far gone to feel any shame. Not when Pink Dress is fucking him like _this._ He knows he’ll hate himself later, will have to face the disappointment of his Time Lord counterpart, but right now he would do anything his Master demanded if only Pink Dress would grant him release. Dignity be damned.

The unusual pair finally reach orgasm together, panting loudly as a sated Master looks on in approval. The Doctor remains impaled on his softening cock, but he is now huddled miserably in a fetal position, silent tears flowing down his face. He can feel the telling mist of semen and sweat as Handy shudders in climax—another complicit victim of the Master’s sexual appetites. The Doctor’s hearts ache as he remembers a time when he was so much more than that. After several torturous moments, the two tormentors withdraw, leaving their captives alone together on the soiled sheets. For what seems like an eternity, neither of them speaks. It is Handy who finally breaks the silence, reaching out to pat the Doctor’s shoulder in an awkward gesture of comfort.

“I’m so sorry,” he stammers.

“You are part human,” the Doctor replies simply, still refusing to look at his contrite duplicate. “I couldn’t have expected you to resist him.”

“But neither can you,” Handy points out. There is no malice or judgment in the hushed statement—only the blunt acknowledgment of a long-unspoken truth.

“You can’t possibly understand,” his counterpart snaps back defensively. But this sudden burst of ire dissipates as quickly as it arose, and the Doctor once again falls silent, unable to either explain or condemn.

“Well isn’t this touching,” the Master interjects from the foot of the bed. “You and your Metacrisis-vanity-experiment clearly have a lot to discuss, Doctor. We’ll be more than happy to leave you to it.”

“You turned the entire human race into yourself!” an incredulous Handy retorts. “Who are _you_ to talk about vanity?”

“ _Still_ feisty!” the Master remarks with an exaggerated wink at Pink Dress.

“Of course,” his duplicate replies coyly. “I didn’t want to ruin him for you.”

“You got what you wanted, Master,” the Doctor concedes brokenly, his slender body curled up within the vast sea of tangled blankets. “Now take him back to his own world.”

“Actually, I think I’ll keep him for a while,” the Master smirks, heading towards the oak doors with a giggling Pink Dress in tow. “I hope the two of you don’t mind sharing a bed!”

The devious pair depart without another word, and as the key once again turns in the lock, it becomes clear that the two Doctors will have no say in the matter. And suddenly, for its trapped inhabitants, the expansive suite feels more like a tiny cage. All they can do now is find a way to cope with their new, shattered reality.


End file.
